


A Very Good Boy

by ermengarde



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-27
Updated: 2008-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-21 23:25:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ermengarde/pseuds/ermengarde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sammy is a very good boy, so Santa’s  going to leave him <em>lots</em> of presents. Dean... Well, he’s lucky his brother is happy to share.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Good Boy

Dean had explained to Sammy all about Santa; how Santa brought presents for good little boys and that following your big brother around and asking _why_ wasn’t being good. Sitting in the corner and reading with Blue Bear was good.

All of Pastor Jim’s books were _very_ hard though; they had words and no pictures and he’d checked _every_ one and _none_ of the words said Sammy or Dean or even Blue Bear - and Blue Bear said he was in all the best stories. It would have been better if Sammy could have gotten the books from the Sunday School room, but Pastor Jim was too busy to take him over to the Church.

Sammy knew there had been Christmas before, but he could barely remember it. That was okay though; Pastor Jim had all the tapes with Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer and the Little Donkey song he needed to know for Church on Christmas Eve, so he’d be all ready. Christmas Eve was the day before Christmas, and Sammy needed to be extra ‘specially good then, so Santa would know and bring him lots of presents.

Daddy had been away for _days and days_ but at lunchtime on Christmas Eve – they were having fish sticks and baked potatoes and carrots and lots of cheese so they’d have the energy for church later on – he came home. Pastor Jim kept them in the kitchen though, until Daddy had gone into the parlor and come back again.

Daddy smelled like outside and cold, but he hugged warm and told Sammy he’d been a _very_ good boy. Sammy was _always_ good. Mostly. Not like Dean, who kept getting into trouble for all sorts of stupid things – like fighting. Dean always won but Daddy said that that wasn’t the point. Except when it was. Fighting and being a big boy seemed real complicated.

Daddy took Dean up to the bedroom after lunch and talked to him in his deep, gruff, getting-into-trouble voice, and when Dean came back downstairs he had red eyes and went straight to Pastor Jim and told him he was sorry for calling Mrs. Polmer stinky. That wasn’t fair at all, because Mrs. Polmer _was_ stinky _and_ she kept pinching Sammy’s cheeks because he was _such a darling little man_. Sammy didn’t say anything, though, in case it was one of those complicated grown up things and Santa might think he was being bad like Dean. Sammy would need to get lots of presents from Santa so he could share them, because Dean had been a very bad boy and there was no way he was getting anything at all.

oOo

The Christmas Eve service was kind of long, but Sammy had crayons and Miss Williams gave his entire Sunday school class candy to keep them busy while Pastor Jim told them all about Jesus being born. The singing went _really_ well, although it made Daddy sad, which Sammy didn’t understand because him and Dean both made the tune okay. It was Lauren who didn’t and who was all squeaky like a mouse.

When it was over, they had to stay in the Church while Pastor Jim told everyone goodnight and Happy Christmas. It was cold at the Church door, but that was okay because Daddy was holding on to him, and Sammy had gotten himself inside Daddy’s warm leather jacket. Dean was gathering up all the Hymn books and putting them away, but Sammy didn’t think that was enough to persuade Santa that Dean was a good boy, not really. Dean had taken extra candy during the service and that was _very bad indeed_.

Sammy really wanted to get home because Blue Bear was waiting – he’d been sitting up on Santa-watch whilst they were at Church – and it wasn’t right that his best friend was at home by himself on Christmas. Anyway, they had to put out some cookies and Grown-up soda for Santa before he got there and thought they’d forgotten about him. Sammy wasn’t sure, but he thought that Santa might count it against him if he thought that he’d been forgotten.

Daddy hustled them to bed when they got back to Pastor Jim’s house, after Sammy had supervised him putting out the cookies and carrots for the reindeer, and the Whiskey stuff. Whiskey was nasty, but Daddy liked it so Santa probably would too.

oOo

The house was quiet and Sammy lay in the dark, listening to Dean breathing and wondering what had woken him up. After he’d lain there for _ages and ages_ , and there hadn’t been any more noise, he was decided; it must have been the reindeer on the roof. Their bedroom was right up at the top of the house, and their hooves would have been quite loud on the tiles.

Santa had been.

Santa _must have_ been and Sammy was going to go and check.

He snuck out of the bedroom, moving as quietly as he could, and crept down the stairs – avoiding the creaky board five steps down. The door to the parlor was open, just a little, and he could see the lights from the tree. He swung the door open slowly and gasped.

Santa _had_ been.

There were piles of presents _everywhere_.

Sammy _had_ been a very good boy, and Santa _knew_ and had left him _millions_ of things.

oOo

John groaned as he rolled over in his sleep and the dull ache in his shoulder pulled him awake. He felt like he’d only been asleep for a few minutes; the boys had been so excited for Christmas and he’d had to wait for them to settle down before he could finish wrapping their presents and put them under Jim’s over-decorated tree.

He’d not been hunting long, but he knew all about protective salt rings and runes and this should have been a safe haven - the home of a Man of God who knew more about the theory of hunting than John could ever hope to learn - but there was a noise. Someone was downstairs, mere feet from his boys.

Before he'd even really thought about it John rolled silently from his bed, snagging his hunting knife from under his pillow, and he crept out from his bedroom towards the stairs.

His heart was beating in his mouth, and he was aware he was almost gasping in the effort to breathe quietly. He'd hunted Black Dogs, VC and Kelpies - dangerous, lethal, enemies, but he'd _never_ been this scared. Nothing had been so close to his family since the son of a bitch that took Mary.

He nearly died as the stair creaked under his weight; the old wood protesting louder than a mortar; but the noise from the parlor - a tearing, rending sound - continued unabated.

He braced against the wall and reached out, pushing the door open wide, ready to deal with whatever it was that was threatening his family.

When he told the story later, to a very amused Jim and a slightly less happy Dean, he left off the part where he damn near scalped his baby boy for running and _attacking_ his legs in an over-excited hug.

Sammy was practically bouncing with excitement, and the whole room was covered in pieces of ripped wrapping paper lying in drifts over half opened toys and practically ignored new clothes. Not one present remained in its pristine wrapped state. Not one.

John sank to the floor, too exhausted to stay vertical any more, and gathered Sammy into his arms. It was only half after two, and Jim had saved some paper from the toy drive that the Church had done...so... he sighed. There was plenty of time to explain to Sammy about sharing, to comfort him, and to re-wrap all the presents before Dean woke up. Plenty of time and maybe he could sleep during one of the movies that was bound to be on tomorrow.


End file.
